Rainy Days and Mondays
by Rainey13
Summary: It's an important anniversary in Neal's life, but the day isn't going quite the way he planned.


Rainy days didn't usually get Neal down. Rain brought freshness, new life, a clean look to the streets and sidewalks. Sometimes he just liked to walk in the rain, letting it wash over him.

If no one was watching, he might even splash in a puddle or two. _And he could just hear Peter's comments about never growing up if the agent ever saw that..._

He didn't usually mind Mondays either. With the two mile restriction he lived under, his options on weekends were limited. Sure, it was way better than prison. And yes, there were museums and galleries within his radius. But he'd been to all of them – multiple times – and unless a new exhibit opened, most of the places he could get to had lost some of their appeal. More and more he usually wound up spending weekends at home, reading, maybe painting if inspiration struck.

When Monday came, it brought the potential of going someplace new if a case came up. Of course, there was also the possibility that Monday would simply bring a new stack of cold case mortgage fraud files on his desk, but that was a risk he had to take as part of the job.

This Monday, however... this rainy Monday was an exception.

He'd spent the weekend trying to convince himself that it didn't matter, it was just another day. Hell, he'd been trying to convince himself of that for the last few weeks, as the date approached.

Awakening this morning, however, after a fitful night, he'd known that the convincing hadn't worked. It _did_ matter, a lot.

He also knew he'd need a favor from Peter to truly observe the day in the manner it deserved. And surely, once he explained, Peter would understand...

Except the day hadn't exactly gone as expected.

First, there was the text message he'd found when he got out of the shower. Peter would not be picking him up as planned. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem. But today it had meant a lost opportunity to talk to the agent – as long as Neal got into the car with an extra cup of Italian roast coffee in hand, that ride to the office was often a good time to talk to Peter about things not work related.

Neal had actually made it to the office before Peter. He'd had the cab drop him at the coffee shop just down the block from the Bureau, and he had managed to get two steaming hot lattes back to the office while still juggling an umbrella and managing not to get totally drenched. He had just taken a sip of his own latte, and was getting ready to take the other one up to Peter's office, when the agent came in.

Which led to the second problem that day.

Peter had apparently also had the idea of stopping at the coffee shop after parking the car in the ramp. But he hadn't been so lucky when trying to get back to the Bureau. He walked into the office looking as if he had nearly drowned...

Jones followed shortly after and quietly told the story of the delivery truck taking the corner a little too fast, and of the resulting tidal wave that had enveloped Peter.

As luck would have it, Hughes had a new case for them that morning – one that involved going to the gallery that had discovered Grecian frescoes missing over the weekend. A sopping wet, muddy suit wouldn't work for that. So, after the team briefing, Neal and Peter had left to head to Brooklyn, and the Burke residence, before going to the gallery. Neal had hoped that once Peter had cleaned up he'd be in a better mood and more approachable...

Enter problem number three for the day.

The car had suddenly lurched, almost as if they had hit something. _And really, the way Peter drove sometimes, with the proximity warnings lighting up the navigation system, that would not have been totally unexpected._ But then came the _thump, thump, thump_ that heralded a flat tire.

On a Monday morning, in the pouring rain.

Neal suggested calling AAA, but Peter insisted he would change the tire. So Neal had gamely stood out in the elements, holding the umbrella as Peter worked on the stubborn lug nuts. _Really, he hadn't realized that Peter's command of swear words was quite so extensive..._

A few scraped knuckles later, problem number four occurred when Peter kicked the tire, perhaps a bit harder than he had planned to, and immediately twisted away in pain.

As Peter hobbled away in agony, Neal had sighed and put down the umbrella, taking up the lug wrench. Several minutes, and a few choice swear words of his own, later, the final nut came loose. He finished changing the tire, put the flat and the tools away, and carefully approached where Peter was standing to say that they could go.

In a true admission of just how much pain he was in, Peter had handed over the car keys. _Peter never let him drive..._

By the time Neal had pulled up in front of the Burke residence, Peter was back to cursing – this time targeting the pain in his foot. _Fortunately, Neal was able to refrain from pointing out that Peter had brought the problem on himself. The tire really hadn't done anything to him..._

While Peter showered, Neal assessed the harm done to his own wardrobe. Fortunately he was just wet, not splashed with muddy water. He tried to repair the damage with Elizabeth's hairdryer, and was successful in getting his hair to no longer resemble the fur of a drowning rat. The forced heat even worked all right on his shirt. But the wool suit...

This was definitely a job for the dry cleaners.

By the time Peter was out of the shower, re-dressed, and struggling to get a shoe on over his now swollen and bruised toe, they were already late getting to the gallery. Add in the stop at June's – with Neal once more behind the wheel – and the delay was even longer, even though he changed in record time.

_That had definitely not been a good time to ask for a favor._

Once they finally made it to the gallery, the owner's incessant demands for an _immediate_ resolution to the theft had not improved Peter's mood any. So, chalk up problem number five – or maybe number six, if you wanted to count the delay in getting there as a separate problem.

By the time they left, they had reams of personnel and exhibit records to review. It had taken Neal three trips to get everything to the car, since by that point Peter could barely walk. Which led to the sixth (or seventh) problem – namely, convincing Peter to get some medical attention. In the end, since he was still behind the wheel, Neal had simply taken it upon himself to drive to the nearest urgent care clinic that he knew of.

Two hours, and a few x-rays, later, Peter left on crutches, a surgical boot on his right foot to protect his broken toes.

_Yeah, that had pretty much topped the day off._

Peter had insisted on going back to the office – whereupon Hughes had insisted that he go home. The senior agent in charge had even tasked a probie with the job of driving Peter home, apparently in acknowledgement of the herculean task Neal had already accomplished by suffering through the whole day with an extra-grouchy Peter Burke.

_Neal had never realized that Hughes would even care... but he might need to pick up a bottle of the single malt he knew the older man was partial to._

No, there had definitely _not_ been a good time to ask for a favor today. _He'd need a Plan B..._

* * *

"Peter?" Elizabeth shut the door behind her, put down her bag, and sat down next to her husband on the couch. "How are you?"

"Hurts like the devil, but the doctors assure me I'll live."

"I was so worried. When you called and said you were at the hospital, I was imagining all sorts of horrible things."

"See, I told Neal I shouldn't call you, but he insisted."

"Well, he was right. I needed to know." Elizabeth paused a moment, looking over at the steps. "Speaking of Neal, where is he? Upstairs?"

"No, he's not here. Hughes had someone else drive me home."

"Peter, you were supposed to invite him for dinner."

The look on Peter's face confirmed the omission. "I forgot," he admitted.

"Peter, you know what today is."

"El, today was so crazy... it slipped my mind."

"He shouldn't be alone tonight, Peter."

Peter nodded, reaching for his phone. "I'm not sure if he's still speaking to me after the way today went, but I'll try."

* * *

_Funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do, to run and find the one who loves me..._

With the events of the current rainy Monday fresh in his mind, the lyrics of _Rainy Days and Mondays_ kept running through his thoughts. Neal hummed it to himself, running through the song as he walked closer. He knew he was just about at the limit, so any moment now...

_The tracker went off, letting him know he'd reached his two mile limit._

He stepped back, moving parallel to the imaginary line that represented his radius. He wanted the best vantage point possible.

The tracker went off two more times before he finally found the perfect spot. _Well, 'perfect' would be to be down below, but this was as good as he was going to get._

The rain had let up for the moment, but the dark sky still held the promise of more precipitation to come. And the ground in the small municipal park was saturated. Fortunately, June's driver kept a few tarps on hand for when he was doing work on the car, and he'd been happy to let Neal borrow one.

He opened the backpack and extracted the tarp, spreading it out on the ground. He stepped to the middle, and sat down. Then he dug in the backpack again, retrieving a bottle of wine, a glass, and a corkscrew.

A few twists of the wrist and he had the bottle open, pouring some of the deep red liquid into the glass. He set the corkscrew aside, re-corked the bottle, and then lifted the glass in a solitary toast.

"Hey, Kate," he said softly. "It's been a year. One year ago today, I thought we were finally going to be together. And then I lost you..."

* * *

"Yeah, yeah, down here, to the right." Peter balanced the laptop on his leg, crossing his fingers that the wireless connection stayed strong. "To the right again."

Elizabeth turned as directed, maneuvering down the narrow, winding road in the park. "What would Neal be doing here?"

Peter sighed. "I think it's the closest he can get to the cemetery where we buried Kate's remains."

Elizabeth just nodded and concentrated on the road. The byway curved, and as the car turned the headlights washed over a small hill, illuminating a figure sitting there.

* * *

Neal took another sip of wine and then closed his eyes, letting images of Kate fill his mind. He could see her at Adler's party, the night they met. At his door, the night she told him she wasn't going to Chicago. In his bed, the first time they made love. Standing in that storage locker, as he was led away in handcuffs. A distant image on a bridge as he desperately pleaded with her on the phone to wait for him. Smiling and waving from the door of the plane...

"Neal?"

He jumped, startled out of his memories. "Peter! Elizabeth? What are you doing here?" He pulled up the left leg of his pants, revealing the green light on the anklet. "I'm not out of my radius."

Peter nodded. "I know," he said, taking another awkward step closer on the crutches. "Is it all right if we join you?"

Neal shrugged and gestured to the tarp. "If you want."

"Neal, we know what today is," Elizabeth said as she settled next to him.

It was a bit more awkward for Peter to get down, and Neal had to catch the older man's arm to keep him from settling a bit too fast – and hard. Peter nodded his thanks and set the crutches aside. "I was supposed to invite you to dinner," he admitted. "But, the way things went today, I forgot."

"Yeah, I was going to ask if I could go to the cemetery," Neal said. "But today didn't turn out to be a very good day to ask for a favor." He pointed through a gap in the trees. "You can see the cemetery from here. I figured I'd just get as close as I could and drink a toast."

Peter reached for the wine bottle and smiled. "A real Bordeaux?"

Neal offered a small smile of his own as he nodded. "A real one, yes. I thought the memories deserved that." He turned to Elizabeth, holding out the goblet. "I only brought one glass, but I'll share."

She accepted the glass, taking a sip. "Oh, that's very nice."

"It's a good vintage," Neal said, accepting the glass back and turning to Peter. "You're probably not supposed to drink with the pain medications."

"I don't think a little wine will hurt too much," Peter said. "Especially under the circumstances." He took the glass from Neal and sipped. "Okay, that's better than the stuff I bought."

"It even required a corkscrew," Neal replied. He reached for the bottle, refilled the glass, took a sip, and then passed it back to Elizabeth.

They sat together like that for a while, not speaking, just sipping wine and breathing in the rain-freshened air. The wind picked up, a small gust sending a smattering of captured raindrops down from the drying leaves still left on the trees.

"It started to snow last year, remember?" Neal finally asked.

"I remember," Peter replied. "I remember all of it."

"You still think she was part of it all, don't you?" Neal asked softly. "That she was using me."

For a long moment Peter didn't answer, but then he finally nodded. "I do," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Neal. But too many things just don't add up."

Neal considered that, and finally nodded slowly. "Maybe," he whispered. "But that doesn't change the fact that I loved her. I loved her so much..." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard.

Elizabeth reached over and put an arm around him, letting his head fall to her shoulder. "Maybe that's all that really matters now," she said. "You can't change any of the rest of it."

"It's all I have left." Neal lifted his head, looking over at Peter. "Loving Kate got me caught – twice."

"True," Peter agreed gently. "Was it worth it?"

Neal looked over at Elizabeth, squeezing her hand, and then back to Peter. "Love and joy, loss and pain. But it got me here, with you guys, and that's not a bad place to be."

He poured the last of the wine into the glass and they shared it. Then he turned to Peter. "Since you're here, can we go down to the cemetery?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I already cleared it." He paused, pointing at his foot. "Of course, you might have to help me up from the ground."

Neal smiled and set the glass aside as he got to his feet. "I can do that," he said, first offering a hand to Elizabeth. He pulled her easily to her feet and then he stepped in front of his partner. Grasping Peter's forearms, he pulled up and back, bringing the older man to his feet while Peter kept his injured foot clear of the ground. Elizabeth deftly slid the crutches under her husband's arms and he hobbled toward the car as Neal and Elizabeth quickly cleaned up.

Peter opted for the back seat so he could put his foot up, so Neal climbed in up front next to Elizabeth. She pulled the car out of the parking space and headed out of the park.

* * *

Neal had already been back in prison, courtesy of OPR, at the time of the funeral. Elizabeth had organized things, so she knew which section to drive to.

Even though Neal hadn't been allowed to attend the service, Peter had brought him to the cemetery when he was released again, so he knew where the marker was too. Still, he hesitated when he got out of the car.

"Do you want some company?" Elizabeth asked gently.

Neal considered that for a moment before answering. "I think I should go alone," he finally said. "If that's all right."

"We'll be right here if you need us," Peter said.

Neal nodded and turned toward the hill. _One foot in front of the other, Neal. You can do it._

This area featured a lot of markers, placed close together, for people who had chosen cremation. _Of course, Kate hadn't actually gotten to choose anything..._

He found the marker and stopped, crouching down to run his fingers over the stone.

_Kate Moreau..._

"One year, Kate," he whispered. "I had so many plans for us – and maybe 'us' wasn't what you wanted after all. I guess I'll never know. But what I do know is that I loved you, so much it hurt. And when you died, I think a little bit of me died too." He reached over, brushing some mud from one corner of the marker. "One year, and I've spent it mourning you, looking for who did this, looking for revenge..."

He stood up, looking out over the sea of markers. "None of that brings you back, and time hasn't meant that I love you any less. I'll always love you. But one year, Kate..."

He looked away, wiping at a stray tear. "One year, Kate," he repeated. "And I think I finally have to move on." He crouched down again, his fingers returning to trace her name. "This isn't good-bye. You'll always be with me, but it's time."

Neal stood and looked behind him to where Peter and Elizabeth stood waiting.

_Funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do, to run and find the one who loves me..._

The song came back to him, and he realized that maybe the words had a different meaning now. He had people who cared about him, loved him. It wasn't the same kind of love as he'd found with Kate, but it was a pretty good feeling.

And really, he didn't even have to run. They were waiting.

Yeah, he didn't hate rainy Mondays at all.


End file.
